


So many ways to tell you

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Cultural Differences, Dorks in Love, Hobbit Courting, Jealousy, Love Confessions, Love Letters, M/M, One Shot Collection, Protective Thorin, Thilbo, bagginshield, braiding, dwarven courting, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2018-10-11 01:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10452039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: I have a soft spot for all kinds of love confessions - the sweet and tender ones, the hilarious ones, the ones that involve little nudges from friends, in short: all beautiful possibilities our favourite ship offers. And it seems that many that come to my mind won't leave until they're written down ... which is why I decided to put them together in a collection of one shots!





	1. Lost for words

**Author's Note:**

> Thorin Oakenshield was so happy that he would even consider hugging an elf – and all because of the piece of paper that he kept in the pocket of his tunic, close to his heart.
> 
> With many thanks to the Dwarrow Scholar and the wonderful list of dwarvish names!

Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, king under the mountain, went through the corridors of his realm and did a playful little jump. He was happy, so happy that his heart felt like bursting, so happy that he would even consider hugging an elf – and all because of the piece of paper that he kept in the pocket of his tunic, close to his heart.

It was no ordinary piece of paper, no. It was small, but full of the sweetest words he could have ever read, words that made his head as light as his steps.

It was a love letter.

He had found it this morning in his antechambers; somebody had obviously slipped it under the door, and not even the guards had been able tell him who had put it there. Since then he had read it several times, casting a glance at the paper in every spare minute. He already knew the words by heart.

_Thorin, my dearest._

The letter wasn’t signed, and the thought of having a secret admirer would have flattered Thorin – flattered, yes. But what he felt was more. The words touched him deeply, and they made him overjoyed and – and – He smiled; he even lacked the words to describe his feelings.

_How can I ever hope to put in words how I feel about you?_

Thorin placed his hand above his pocket. No, a secret admirer wouldn’t make him feel like this. But it wasn’t a secret to him who had written these lines, and his hand gripped tighter into the fabric of his tunic. It had taken him some while, though, to recognize the elegant yet somewhat spidery handwriting. Could it really be? It seemed so unbelievable, even now, a whole day full of council members and tradesmen and ambassadors later. That such sweet words weren’t written down by a strange hand, but –

He couldn’t resist any longer: He got the letter out of his pocket and read it once more in the warm glow of a wall lamp.

 

_Thorin, my dearest,_

_all spoken words fail me in your presence, and now even the written ones seem to forsake me._

_How can I ever hope to put in words how I feel about you? How can words describe the warmth in my heart when I see you, think of you? And what about the cold that spreads within it when I realize that I’m not brave enough to tell you of my feelings? Nothing seems to make sense – how can my heart beat so painfully in my chest although you carry it in your hands?_

_So many people trust you, rely on you, and still I am selfish enough to wish that you, who has to watch over so many, would set your beautiful eyes on me alone; you, who protects a whole folk, would wrap your arms around me alone; and that you, who speaks so many counsels, would lay your lips on mine just for once._

_Forgive me for losing myself in such fancies … for fancies they must stay. How I wish I was brave like you! But said aloud, written down or not: My heart is yours. Please –_

Here the letter stopped, as if the writer had been too afraid to add any wish. Thorin looked at the words tenderly. The signature was missing, but he whispered the writer’s name nonetheless, soft as a promise: “Bilbo.” He raised the letter to his lips and placed a kiss on it before dreamily continuing on his way.

When he had recognized the hobbit’s handwriting, it had turned his whole world upside down. No, that wasn’t correct: It had turned his whole world _right_ , as if it had been upside down before, and he hadn’t even noticed it.

He wished he could have gone to see Bilbo earlier. But today’s schedule hadn’t left him much time, and he hadn’t wanted to talk to the hobbit between meetings. He deserved his undivided attention, and everything he wished for in the letter: soft glances, tender embraces, and as many kisses as they could share before both of them were left breathless. Oh, Thorin would fulfil his every wish with the greatest of pleasure! He longed for it.

He knew that he loved Bilbo. He had carried those feelings with him for a long time, but it had taken one crystal-clear moment under the stars of Lake-Town and this brave hobbit vouching for him to finally make him realize. He had spent nights lying awake, wondering how he should approach Bilbo … if he should approach him at all. But as soon as his feelings for the hobbit were concerned, he felt like a dwarfling who barely knew how to hold an axe at the right end.

 _How I wish I was brave like you!_ Thorin smiled as he remembered the line. _I’m not brave, my dearest burglar. Otherwise I would have found the courage to tell you. You are the brave one._

Even when he knocked on Bilbo’s door, when he knew that there was no turning back, he felt a sudden fear, and dozens of what-ifs whirled through his head.

_What if he hasn’t written the letter? – But it is his handwriting._

_What if it wasn’t meant for you? – There’s your name on it, and the letter has been in your chambers._

Then an almost trivial thought. _It’s late. What if Bilbo has already gone to bed?_

At least his last fear was unfounded. The door opened, and Bilbo – still in shirt, waistcoat, and trousers, looking as lovely as ever – squinted at his unexpected visitor. His face brightened up, and he made a welcoming little bow, just like any dwarf would make in such a situation.

“Good evening, Bilbo”, Thorin said. “I’m sorry for disturbing you at such hour, but … May I enter?”

“Of course, come in.” The hobbit led him into his parlour. The room was illuminated by lamps and some candles; their shine highlighted the cosy armchair, a blanket that was tossed about it, as well as a teacup and some books on a small table next to it. “Would you like some tea?”, Bilbo asked as he noticed Thorin’s gaze. As the dwarf shook his head, he asked: “Well, then – what can I do for you?”

Thorin looked at him – silky curls, deep eyes, freckled nose, beatific smile. Suddenly speaking felt so easy.

“I’d like to talk about your letter”, he said softly.

Bilbo’s smile wavered. “What letter?”

“The letter you wrote me. The one I got this morning.”

Now the smile disappeared. “I didn’t send you any letter.”

Thorin’s own smile froze on his lips. He could only stare at the hobbit for painfully long moments, and he wouldn’t have moved if the whole mountain had collapsed right now. A part of him was offended that it didn’t crumble – his smile was crumbling, his hopes, and his heart, so why not the stone as well? It would only be fair.

But the world moved on, and he had to react somehow. But he couldn’t do more than ask helplessly: “You … didn’t?”

Bilbo didn’t look at him – or did he? It was difficult to tell; everything seemed to blur in front of Thorin’s eyes. The wonderful images he had had – Bilbo sitting at his desk, writing those sweet lines for him and reading them aloud, his voice sometimes a whisper, then again fervently – turned into dust. If Bilbo hadn’t written the letter – if the words weren’t his – but somebody else’s – what did they matter to him? Nothing. Sure, somebody had taken great care and effort to choose them – but _somebody_ – not Bilbo – Bilbo – the only one he longed to hear such words from –

“I’m sorry for disturbing you”, he mumbled and turned to leave, to get anywhere, just away from here. But before he had taken a second step, small fingers wrapped around his wrist and held him back.

“Thorin”, Bilbo said shakily, “when I say that I didn’t send you any letter … it’s only half the story. I _did_ write a letter to you – several letters – but I wasn’t brave enough to send you any.”

Thorin turned around. Bilbo had lowered his eyes. His face was flushed, and his nose made a nervous twitch. “I felt so foolish. The king under the mountain, receiving such letters from a love-struck hobbit …”

“You say that as if it was something bad.” Thorin placed a hand on Bilbo’s cheek and gently turned his face until the hobbit had to look at him. “I yearn for everything that is written in this letter. To have your beautiful eyes on me …” He watched fondly how Bilbo tried to avoid his gaze despite their closeness. Finally, however, he fastened his hazel eyes on Thorin, and the hope he saw in them made his heart race. “To wrap my arms around you …” One hand still on Bilbo’s cheek, he let the other wander over his back, gently pressing him a little closer to his body. “And …”

Thorin stopped. His head was spinning, and he felt like laughing and doing little jumps again. He lowered his head until he could feel Bilbo’s hitched breath on his lips. “There was a third wish, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten it …”

Bilbo swallowed. “To lay your lips on mine …”

Now Thorin chuckled, and he could feel a shiver running through the hobbit’s body. “So you know of the letter after all. It makes me so happy … You make me so happy. I –” He was lost for words, but he could think of something far more tempting than speaking. He bridged the last distance between them to kiss Bilbo.

Thorin kissed him with all the tenderness he could give him. He only grazed his lips, and yet a sweetness beyond words bloomed on them. Bilbo sighed softly before he leaned into the touch and put his hand on Thorin’s chest, right above his heart. The dwarf reached for it, intertwined his fingers with the fingers that had written such tender lines.

 _Lay your lips on mine just for once_. He pulled back, but only for the duration of one heartbeat before placing another lingering kiss on Bilbo’s lips. _You deserve a kiss for every word, no, every character of your beautiful letter._

He drew back to look into Bilbo’s face. The hobbit in turn looked at him dreamy-eyed. His voice still wavered when he asked: “So you liked my letter?” As he spoke, a smile spread across his face, and the little laugh that followed it almost sounded like a hiccup. It was most endearing and awoke Thorin’s desire to kiss him once more. And he did.

“I’m afraid”, he eventually breathed against Bilbo’s lips, “I’m not half as eloquent as you, my dearest. I won’t be able to write you love letters, or even tell you properly how much you mean to me, how much I love you. You’ll have to content yourself with me _showing_ you my love instead.”

“You say that as if it was something bad”, Bilbo replied, cupped his face and pulled him into another kiss.

 

***

 

It was late morning when Elspa, daughter of Eikar, entered the chambers of the company’s renowned burglar. As usually, she headed into his study at first. His chambers were big enough that it would have taken at least another servant to clean up, but the hobbit kept them rather tidy by himself. She knew from experience, however, that his study deserved some attention. Lately the waste paper basket was always full – which was a real shame, she thought.

She had known that he was about to write a book about the company’s quest. The whole mountain talked about it, and Master Baggins himself had been so nice to show her a few pages, mainly drawings. But Elspa was curious, and one time she hadn’t been able to ignore the papers that the hobbit had simply thrown away.

She had expected glimpses of the adventure she had already heard so much about it. But instead she had found the most beautiful poems and declarations of love. They had touched her deeply, and it had hurt her that he had thrown them away. She hadn’t been surprised at whom they were addressed, not in the least. That was another matter the whole mountain seemed to talk about.

But today the basket was empty, and there weren’t any papers scattered over his desk either. Elspa only shrugged at the unfamiliar sight, but moved on to make his bed instead.

She didn’t enter the bedroom, though, but stopped at the doorstep, a smile spreading on her face. If that wasn’t a sight for Mahal himself …

Master Baggins was curled up in his bed, and the king himself was at his side. They were embracing each other, and the king’s dark tresses were interwoven with the burglar’s fair curls. The hobbit’s head lay on the dwarf’s shoulder, and he in turn had tilted his head. It looked as if he had fallen asleep while pressing a kiss on the hobbit’s forehead … which he probably had. Even in sleep they looked so happy.

Elspa backed out and quietly closed the door behind her. She was still smiling.

She was glad that she had found this one letter in the basket that wasn’t crumpled-up, and that she had been able to slip it under the king’s door. Maybe she was too curious indeed, or interfering in affairs that were not hers. But Elspa found that men sometimes needed a push in the right direction … even if they were a king and a masterburglar.


	2. A Light from the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In The Lord of the Rings, we hear of a messenger from Mordor coming to Erebor and asking Dain about hobbits. Now imagine the same situation - but it is Thorin who listens to the black rider and gets all protective ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to mess up with the timeline: The rider comes to Erebor about a year after the Battle of the Five Armies. (We can't wait for the canon sixty years in which Thorin and Bilbo only pine after each other!)
> 
> Some of the lines Mordor's messenger speaks to Thorin are taken from The Lord of the Rings: The Council of Elrond!

The trampling of heavy boots invaded Bilbo’s pleasant dreams. Even now, in the grip of sleep, he knew that it was the sound of dwarven boots; he had lived long enough amongst the people of Erebor to tell. But it was strange, and he could feel how sleep slipped away from him at this thought, that he should hear such a sound right now. After all, he was in his bed – not in his chambers in Erebor, but in his room on the first floor of a little inn in Dale.

Bilbo had decided for a trip to the city, and he had spent the day marvelling at the progress of the rebuilding, and how glorious Dale looked once again. He had strolled across the markets, and he had been enthralled by the exotic goods he had seen there. He had also talked to the people, some of them inhabitants of the city, but also to merchants and travellers. It had been a long day full of excitement, but it had always been his intention to stay in Dale overnight. His dwarves knew, of course, that he would return the next day. So why should any of them come looking for him?

The trampling was close now, and before Bilbo had properly sat up in his bed, the door was torn open, and he had to squint against the bright light of a lantern.

“Bilbo!” The deep voice was breathless, but unmistakable.

“Thorin?”, he wondered. “What are you doing here? Has something happened?” The lantern was almost tossed on a table, and white specks danced in front of Bilbo’s eyes. He had to blink, so he didn’t see Thorin approaching, and the embrace caught him off his guard.

He was full of questions, but the strong arms around him convinced Bilbo that it would be wise to exercise patience instead of asking what had brought the king to Dale. Not that it needed much to convince him. Truth be told, he was more than content to close his eyes again and lean into Thorin’s touch.

Maybe he was still dreaming after all. What other explanation could there be for the King under the Mountain storming into his room – in Dale at that! – in the middle of the night and enfolding him in his arms like he had back on the Carrock? Not that Bilbo would complain. To be held by him as if they were lovers was very pleasant indeed, although he had to fight back the small yet persistent disappointment that it was only a dream after all. Half-asleep, he shuffled closer to Thorin, determined to savour the warmth of this dream-embrace as long as it would last.

“Mahal be praised you’re safe”, Thorin let out with a deep sigh, and the utter relief in his voice made Bilbo look up. Only now he noticed that the king looked somewhat dishevelled: He didn’t wear regal clothes and jewellery, but had obviously dressed hastily. His hair was tangled, and Bilbo was tempted to comb his fingers through the dark tresses. However, it was dawning on him that this wasn’t a dream after all, and that he should act in a more respectable way – which didn’t include untangling the king’s hair. He couldn’t bring himself to draw back, though, and Thorin in turn made no intention of letting him go; his broad hands were still on his back.

“Safe? What are you talking about?”

“A rider came to Erebor”, Thorin explained after hesitating for a moment. “A messenger … from Mordor.”

Mordor. The light of the lantern seemed to fade as he remembered the stories he had heard about the land of darkness when he was a child. _The riders of Mordor will come and get you if you don’t eat your vegetables._ As he had grown, the stories and their morals had changed, but Mordor had stayed a place of dread.

“He arrived after nightfall”, Thorin went on. “I had already retired, but when I left my rooms Balin approached me and advised me to speak to this … messenger from the gates instead of opening them, and Dwalin followed in his wake to tell me that he had called for a company of guards. Both of them were right to be cautious. This rider … The Lord Sauron, he said, wished for our friendship. Rings he would give us, such as he gave of old. And only a small token of our friendship Sauron wanted: information about hobbits.” Not even Thorin’s closeness could stop the cold from creeping over Bilbo’s whole body. His hands dug nervously into the fabric of Thorin’s tunic. “We should find a thief and get from him, willing or not, a little ring that he stole. ‘Find only news of the thief, and you shall have great reward and lasting friendship from the Lord. Refuse, and things will not seem so well.’ That were his words.”

The ring. They wanted the ring he had found in the goblin tunnels! Only the ring, it seemed, but Bilbo couldn’t imagine that a messenger from Mordor would simply take it from him and let him go. Somebody they considered a thief wouldn’t get off with a mere slap on the wrist.

“What”, his mouth felt very dry, “what did you tell him?”

“That the rings of old do not only concern the dwarves of Erebor, but all seven kingdoms, and that I have to consult the other lords in such an important matter.” Thorin’s hands drew comforting circles across his back as he saw the horror in Bilbo’s face. “Don’t worry. I would never bargain with Mordor, especially not if you are the price he wants. I was just getting us some time. When the rider left, some scouts followed him, and I came here immediately to see if you’re alright.”

Bilbo let his head fall against Thorin’s chest. “I’m so sorry.” Suddenly he felt tired, but it was a very different kind of tiredness than what he had felt before, one that made him feel heavy as lead. “I had no idea what I picked up in the darkness, and now I brought such a cruel enemy to the doors of your kingdom.”

“Don’t say such things”, Thorin chided, but there was no sharpness in his voice. “We will send a raven with a message to Gandalf, telling him that something is stirring in Mordor, and the White Council will take care of the matter. And you will be safe: I brought my best guards including Dwalin with me, they’re watching the house and the nearby streets and will escort us home tomorrow in the bright daylight. And I will personally watch over your sleep.”

“Thank you”, Bilbo said, trying not to sigh as the dwarf let go of him, and he had to arrange himself in his pillows and blankets again. “This sounds like a most sensible idea.”

 

***

 

“This is getting ridiculous!”

Thorin shot a glance at him. “I do not think, Master Baggins, that any precaution concerning your safety can be ridiculous.”

Calling him Master Baggins now, eh? Bilbo huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. It wasn’t easy to look dignified, wearing only a sleepshirt and sitting upright in his bed, half covered by blankets, but it would have to do. “Then tell me, oh King under the Mountain: How many days have passed since the dark rider has been at your gates?”

“Nine days.” Thorin didn’t sound impressed by Bilbo’s stern voice.

“What did your scouts report?”

“That the rider has travelled south. He has left our lands.”

“And what did Gandalf answer to your message?”

“That he has summoned the White Council, and that they will take care of Sauron.”

“And”, Bilbo hadn’t finished yet, “how many guards are situated near my rooms?”

“The night watch is doubled, and additional guards patrol around your chambers.”

“And who is the stubborn king that insists of watching over my sleep personally nonetheless?”

“I am not stubborn”, the dwarf replied. To Bilbo’s ears, he did sound very stubborn.

“Thorin”, he said softly, trying another way to convince the king of getting some rest, “you can’t watch over me all the time. How much sleep did you get during the last days? And don’t tell me ‘enough’!”

The king’s mouth had opened, but at Bilbo’s remark he closed it again without uttering even a syllable. He turned around abruptly to stare into the flames of the fireside. “I will not leave”, he stated, and Bilbo knew that he would rather be able to move a giant boulder than Thorin out of his rooms. Not that he actually wanted to do so. He had dreamed, with closed as well as with open eyes, of being close to Thorin. But his fancies had been of a different kind – a _very_ different kind that turned his cheeks red – and this was getting ridiculous indeed.

Thorin spoke on. His voice was gruff, but there was a barely hidden tremor in it. “I cannot bear the thought of you getting hurt.”

Bilbo blinked, and his mind needed a moment to actually comprehend what Thorin had said. But then he smiled and freed himself of his blankets to sit on the edge of the bed. It was dwarven size and therefore too big for him, but he let his legs dangle as he patted on the free place next to him. “Sit down with me, Thorin”, he asked softly. “At least for a moment.”

The king listened to him, but his face was a mask as he turned around to him. The hobbit, however, knew him well enough to notice the doubt in his eyes as well as the faint flush on his cheeks.

When he had sat down, Bilbo placed his hand on Thorin’s, but didn’t look at him. Instead, he tilted his head and watched the flames, just as the king had done before.

“If it is your wish to protect me, then I guess you have to stay close to me.” He could feel Thorin’s hand twitch and wrapped his own around it more firmly. “You can’t overstrain yourself, though, and you have to get enough sleep. If … if we would share a bed”, he swallowed; he couldn’t believe that he was really saying this, “would that be close enough?”

Bilbo knew that Thorin was staring at him now; he could feel his glare. “If some strange noise would wake you”, he babbled on, “you would be right at my side. You wouldn’t have to worry about me, and I wouldn’t have to worry about you getting too little rest and – ”

He was silenced by lips pressing softly against his temple, and without a moment of hesitation he turned his head to meet Thorin’s lips with his. All nightmares of rings and riders vanished, and instead other, much more pleasant dreams became true. But no, that wasn’t correct: Not in his most pleasant dreams he could have imagined Thorin’s kiss to be so sweet, the tickling of his beard to be so smooth, and the touch of his fingers on Bilbo’s cheek to be so tender.

“You’re trying to distract me from my worries”, Thorin eventually accused him under his breath.

“Yes.” Bilbo grazed his lips once more. “Is it working?”

“Well enough.”

“Good.” The hobbit wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck, and a sheepish smile appeared on his face. “Can you do us a favour? Can you tell the guards to … well, to move away from my rooms? Just a bit?” His cheeks burned, but he managed not to look away.

Thorin’s eyes widened. “You trust me, and me alone, to protect you?”

“You always have to worry, don’t you?” Bilbo gave him a peck on the tip of his nose. “Of course I trust you. I entrust my life to you, and my heart. But, you know –”

He was interrupted once again as Thorin kissed him with such yearning and need that it made him dizzy. He felt the dwarf’s warm hands on his back, and suddenly he was swept away and pulled onto his lap. Finally Bilbo bowed to his own desires and combed his fingers through Thorin’s dark hair; it felt like silk on his skin. He pressed his lips harder against the dwarf’s with growing fervour, and Thorin returned the caress eagerly. His arms wrapped around Bilbo, and they fell back on the bed in each other’s embrace.

“Thorin”, Bilbo laughed breathlessly as the dwarf began to cover his neck with kisses, “that wasn’t my core statement! I was talking about the guards.” He had to chuckle again as he felt the tickling of beard. “They could hear things they’re not supposed to hear.”

The dwarf stopped his caresses to look at him, his face such a mix of disbelief and hope that Bilbo decided to prevent him from speaking by another kiss.

“No more worries”, he told him. “I’ve dreamed of waking up in your arms, and of falling asleep in them again, and of many other beautiful things for such a long time …”

“Me too.” Thorin still sounded breathless, but finally, finally his eyes showed nothing but fondness and happiness. He ran his fingers along Bilbo’s jaw. “I think it would be really sensible to speak to the guards ... Would you get off me for a moment?”

Bilbo grinned back at him. “If it’s only for a moment …”

It was ironic, he thought as he waited for Thorin to return, that it had needed a rider from a dreadful country to bring them together. He shouldn’t laugh at anything concerning Mordor, but he couldn’t help wondering what its lord would say if he knew that, instead of doing evil, he had only made the world brighter.

Thorin reappeared. For a moment he stood in the doorframe and looked at Bilbo, his smile soft and his eyes full of tenderness.

And a lot brighter at that.


	3. Children and Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Amad says that Master Baggins will certainly grow his hair. How can the king put his braid in it otherwise?” The children let out an understanding “ah” at that statement. Bilbo, however, was still clueless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Children and fools tell the truth ~

„Take that, you vile orc!“

The wooden sword cut through the air – and air was all it hit. There was a shriek nonetheless, too high to be uttered by such a creature, and it turned into a giggle at that.

Bilbo looked up from his red notebook. He had found a bench in a quiet corner of the market hall to make sketches of this lively place. But he had hardly begun his drawing of a merchant’s stall. Instead he found himself looking up again and again to watch the children.

A bunch of boys and girls had gathered around the fountain in the middle of the hall, and they were playing with Erebor’s most coveted toys: the company of Thorin Oakenshield.

The little wooden dolls were Bifur’s bestseller – he wouldn’t tell which figure was actually the most popular, although Bilbo got the impression that it could be Dwalin; almost every child in Erebor seemed to run around with the warrior’s miniature edition. Each toy was carefully carved and hand-painted, with tiny clothes and hair of dyed wool. The figures could move their heads and hands and legs, and some of them had accessories, mostly swords or axes.

The toys were really endearing – the whole company including their wizard stood in Bilbo’s rooms, a gift from Bifur. At first it had been strange to see a toy version of himself, with its red jacket and tiny curls. But Bilbo felt a bit flattered as well, especially as he watched how another girl approached the children. She waved something above her head and shouted: “Look what adad gave me! It’s Master Baggins!”

Bilbo smiled quietly. The girl was full of excitement as she showed her friends her new treasure, not knowing that the famous burglar himself was only a few steps away. It wasn’t always easy to be the only hobbit amongst dwarves, but it had its advantages as well: Nobody was as light-footed as Bilbo, and it wasn’t difficult for him to go unnoticed amidst all the racket the dwarves made.

“You’re so lucky, Brynja”, one of the boys said. “I want one too! But amad is sure that Master Bifur will make a figure with long hair soon, and she said I should wait for that.”

A toy version of him with long hair? Bilbo frowned. Why should Bifur create something like that – and why should he grow his hair in the first place? It was already longer than when he had left the Shire – not long by dwarven standards, of course, but perfect for any hobbit.

It was his luck that one of the children didn’t seem to understand as well. “What are you talking about, Eli?”

“Amad says that Master Baggins has to grow his hair for sure”, Eli explained. “How can the king put his braid in it otherwise?”

The children let out an understanding “ah” at that statement. Bilbo, however, was still clueless. He knew that dwarves made quite a fuss about hair, beads, and braids – even the children’s beards, though still rather scarce, were brushed neatly, and they had their hair adorned. But he had no idea what certain kind of braids and ornaments signified. He had intended to ask someone, but there had been more important things at first, and he had simply forgotten his question about the rebuilding of Erebor.

But why should Thorin braid his hair? Bilbo pricked up his ears; maybe he could learn a bit more from the children.

The girl, Brynja, looked at the toy hobbit in her hands. “But Master Baggins is from far away. Maybe they don’t braid each other’s hair in his home country.”

“Nonsense!” Another girl laughed. “How can they tell someone that they like them if they don’t braid each other’s hair?”

“That’s no nonsense, Tira!” Brynja sticked her tongue out. “My uncle is a merchant, and he has travelled far. He says that many people have different customs. They don’t braid each other’s hair, and they don’t touch each other like we do as well.”

“But I saw how the king and Master Baggins touched each other!”, a boy countered.

Bilbo was sure that he was as red as the cover of his notebook by now. How that sounded! He knew that dwarves often conveyed emotion by touches; the image of Balin and Dwalin crushing their heads together in his entrance hall was very vivid in his memory. It was a common gesture amongst family members and friends. But still –

“And if he doesn’t know what that means?” Eli looked at the doll in Brynja’s hands almost suspiciously. “That’s weird.”

Brynja pointed her toy towards the figure of Thorin the other boy held. “Maybe the king has to tell Master Baggins directly that he loves him.”

There was a bang, and the children turned their heads to where Bilbo’s red notebook had just slipped from his fingers and fallen on the floor. They stared at him open-mouthed, but Bilbo gave them a quick smile, gathered his notebook and left his place on the bench. He didn’t care that he was basically fleeing from the children. He needed some quiet moments to think. Or some quiet hours – he would probably need them to cope with his conflicting emotions.

As soon as he entered a narrow, quiet hallway, he leaned against the smooth stone of the wall. _Could it be?_ , he thought. _That the children see something that I don’t see?_ They had spoken of touches, and Bilbo remembered the occasions when Thorin had put his hand on his shoulder, or on his back when he guided him somewhere. And braiding someone’s hair seemed to be a part of courtship. So if Thorin would braid _his_ hair … He found himself pressing his notebook against his fast-beating heart, as if he could keep it inside his chest by doing so. The next moment, however, a lump built in his throat. It was only children’s talk he had listened to, after all. But then again they had repeated things their parents had said …

He took a deep breath. There was only one way to find out what all this talk about braiding meant. Still clinging to his notebook, he headed towards the shared quarters of the company.

Many of his friends had gathered in the great room that had been turned into a parlour: Dwalin and Nori played a game of chess, and Dori watched them – probably to make sure that his brother wouldn’t cheat; Ori scribbled in one of his notebooks; Bifur was occupied with a new wooden toy; Oin sat half asleep in a chair, surrounded by Fíli and Kíli who looked suspiciously innocent; Balin sat next to Thorin and talked to him.

As soon as he noticed the hobbit, however, the elderly dwarf got up and offered him his seat. Bilbo wanted to protest, but Balin appeased him with a wink: “I wanted to leave anyway, Bilbo. Don’t worry about me.”

Thorin smiled as he sat down next to him, and his gaze found the notebook in Bilbo’s hands. “Did you find something interesting at the market to draw?”, he asked. The hobbit had told him about his plans – that had been a few days ago, but of course Thorin remembered. He always did, and Bilbo felt a warm tingle in his belly at this realisation.

“Not really”, he admitted and nodded towards Bifur. “I got distracted by some children. They were playing with Bifur’s toys.”

“They’re really popular”, Thorin remarked.

“M-hm.” Oin had finally nodded off, and Fíli and Kíli pretended not to be excited about it; he could only wonder what mischief they were up to. “I overheard them talking, and I realized how little I know about dwarven culture and customs …”

“Has something happened?” The king leaned forward. “I’ll gladly answer all your questions if I can. Don’t be shy, just ask.”

Well, if he formulated it like that …

“If I would grow my hair”, Bilbo began slowly and watched how Thorin’s eyes widened in surprise, “would you … like that?” He tried to maintain a level voice and a neutral expression. Maybe this was a misunderstanding after all, and the children had only repeated a rumour they had heard from their parents, or …

But then a smile bloomed on Thorin’s face, warm and kind, and Bilbo simply had to smile back at him. “You would like it?”, he asked sheepishly.

“I would love it”, Thorin answered, his voice full of affection. Love! Bilbo’s heart did a jump. And how tenderly Thorin looked at him … It made him forget all his doubts, and he sank against Thorin, rested his head against his shoulder, savoured their closeness. He remembered how the children had talked about touches, and he placed his hand right above Thorin’s heart.

“There is one problem, though …”, he mumbled.

“Will you tell me?” A slight tremble in his voice revealed Thorin’s uncertainty. Bilbo could feel the dwarf’s muscles tense as well, and it made his heart almost burst with love. Thorin was always worrying. His wonderful, foolish dwarf …

“I don’t want to wait until my hair is long enough to be braided”, he whispered as he shuffled closer.

Thorin eased, and he covered Bilbo’s hand with his own. The fingers of his other hand wandered over Bilbo’s neck, combed gently through his curls, twisted the tresses between his fingers. It was a comforting caress, but at the same time it was wonderfully intimate and exciting.

“A bead will do for the beginning … one of my own beads”, Thorin answered in a low voice, and not even a hobbit, inexperienced in the subtleties of dwarven courtship, had to ask what that meant.


	4. A certain kind of smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ll have to be patient before uncle will be able to tell you a compliment", Fíli ovserved. "It seems Mistress Arna has gotten hold of him."  
> “Amad doesn’t like her”, Kíli added helpfully. “Basically she thinks Mistress Arna is ogling at uncle.” He shrugged at his brother who gave him a stern look. “Just telling the truth.”  
> Bilbo frowned as he realized how Thorin smiled at the merchant. It was the kind of smile that usually only Thorin’s kin got to see ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Lionesspuma who requested a shouted reveal of love ... I hope you like what I did with that prompt :)

Bilbo studied his reflection in the mirror closely.

It was strange to see himself in dwarven clothes, but he was very satisfied nonetheless. The tunic was of a rich green, embroidered with silver floral patterns at collar and sleeves. Underneath he wore a plain grey shirt; he hadn’t fastened the first three buttons on purpose to let the last layer – his mithril shirt – shimmer through. The trousers were green as well, but of such a dark hue that they seemed almost black, and they reached down to his ankles.  Above all that he wore a silver-grey coat with short sleeves. His feet were tidy and brushed – although he suspected that most dwarves wouldn’t even notice that. His hair was shining and smelled faintly of the herbal water he had used, and was adorned with a simple silver circlet, his only jewellery.

He smiled at his reflection. He wanted to look special for this occasion.

That evening a feast was held in Erebor. Nothing big, everybody had assured him, and nothing formal. Only some food and drink, maybe some music as well. But the king had finally recovered enough to walk without the help of a crutch, and the dwarves of Erebor wanted to see him, to know that he was alright, that he would lead them. Moreover, Balin had added with a wink, they all could do with a little break.

He wondered what his friends would say as soon as they saw him like that … what Thorin would say.

A little laugh welled up in Bilbo’s throat. Tonight … tonight he would tell Thorin that he loved him.

He knew how he felt for his dwarf, had known it for a long time. But a quest to reclaim a kingdom and kill a dragon didn’t offer many chances for love confessions, and Bilbo had also dreaded Thorin’s reaction. After all, what did a sole hug, hardly more than an apology, have to mean?

But in the healing tents Bilbo had begun to see. He remembered how Thorin had looked at him after waking up, so weak that he could barely move his head, but his eyes full of fondness, and how soft he had spoken Bilbo’s name … They had talked quietly for long hours, and yet there had been so many unspoken words in Thorin’s tender eyes.

They stayed unspoken as they had been drawn apart in the events that followed – the king’s slow recovery, the negotiations with the people of Lake-Town and the elves of Mirkwood, the rebuilding of Erebor. Sometimes, especially when Bilbo lay awake in the dark of night, doubts gnawed at him, and he wondered if he only saw what he wanted to see.

But now, looking into the mirror, he didn’t feel any doubts at all, only overwhelming joy. With a last smile at his reflection Bilbo left his chambers.

That was when things started to go wrong.

Bilbo reached the feast hall with an aching toe; he had stubbed it on the wall as he had turned around a corner.

Many dwarves had already gathered, and the hobbit looked for Thorin. As he did so, he managed to bump into another dwarf – someone important, he guessed from the many golden clasps and beads in his hair. The cup in the dwarf’s hand dipped dangerously, and a splash of wine landed on Bilbo’s sleeve. The man scowled at him, but Bilbo didn’t even apologize; he only looked at the stains with dismay. They would probably dry very quickly, but he didn’t want to smell like a whole barrel of wine. He remembered his good manners – a bit belated, but still –, mumbled an apology and continued his search.

It should be difficult, actually impossible to overlook someone as important as a king, but Bilbo almost managed nonetheless. Thorin was literally besieged by dozens of dwarves; he would have disappeared amidst them if he hadn’t been taller than most. Bilbo felt a twinge of panic, but he fought it back. The feast had just begun, and he wouldn’t act like an overchallenged tween who finally asked his secret crush out for a date. Although … He couldn’t deny that there were parallels to his situation.

He grabbed a cup of wine from one of the servants and positioned himself next to a pillar, not too close to the gathered dwarves – he didn’t want to seem bothersome, or even needy –, but not too far away as well – he didn’t want to miss his chance to speak to Thorin soon, after all.

“Bilbo!”, a familiar voice called out to him suddenly. “You look like a real dwarf!”

The hobbit smiled as Fíli and Kíli approached him. The other dwarves made way for them, and most of them inclined their head or bowed down at the sight of the princes. They looked regal in their finery indeed, but they moved with the self-confidence and casualness of young warriors, and their smiles were mischievous as always.

“We almost didn’t recognize you”, Kíli said with a laugh. “If it weren’t for your feet …”

His brother gave him a dig with the elbow, and Kíli added: “I’m just teasing you. You look very impressive. Honestly.” He winked. “Uncle will be impressed as well.”

“Thank you”, Bilbo answered quietly, but his smile faltered a little as Fíli observed: “You’ll have to be patient before uncle will be able to tell you a compliment, though. It seems Mistress Arna has gotten hold of him.”

“Mistress Arna?” Bilbo raised himself on tiptoes to get a better look. He noticed the dwarf lady at once. Her hair was of a deep brown, and the long tresses were adorned with glittering diamond studs. Her beard was carefully braided and adorned as well, and her clothes were very elegant. Her whole attire showed that she was rich, but that she had good taste as well. Bilbo had to admit that she looked very appealing.

“She’s a merchant from the White Mountains”, Fíli explained. “She visited us in the Ered Luin regularly, and she always talked uncle’s ears off.”

“Amad doesn’t like her”, Kíli added helpfully. “She has said some things about her that would make even Nori blush … But basically she thinks Mistress Arna is ogling at uncle.” He shrugged at his brother who gave him a stern look. “Just telling the truth.”

Bilbo frowned as he realized how Thorin looked at the merchant. His gaze was fixed on her, and he showed her a smile – not a polite smile like the one Bilbo used when he was confronted with nosy relatives. No, it was a sincere smile, the kind of smile that usually only Thorin’s kin got to see.

“I bet Amad was just exaggerating”, Fíli tried to appease him. Not that it was necessary to appease him, of course not! Thorin and Arna were old acquaintances, and he had no reason to be jealous –

The merchant put her bejewelled fingers on the king’s arm, and Bilbo grit his teeth. Okay, maybe Dís _was_ right, and Mistress Arna _was_ ogling at Thorin, and he _was_ jealous. But Thorin looked as if he actually enjoyed the attention he received! He kept smiling, and he didn’t seem to mind at all that her hand was still on his arm.

“We should go and find Balin”, Fíli began as he saw how Bilbo’s face darkened. “He wanted to teach us some … stuff. Royal etiquette, you know, how to behave at feasts like this and …”

“… stuff”, Kíli helped him lamely.

The hobbit felt guilty as the brothers mixed with the guests. It wasn’t fair to take his mood out on them, but he couldn’t help it. Thorin was so absorbed in his talk with that merchant, he didn’t look up from her face! Had he even noticed that Bilbo was amongst the guests? Probably not, as enthralled as he was by his charming company.

Bilbo tried to be patient. He drank another cup of wine – he forced himself to do so slowly. He absent-mindedly talked to Ori and exchanged some terse words with Bifur, but nobody approached him as his mood worsened and worsened. When his cup was empty and Thorin hadn’t even looked into his direction, he turned on his heel and left the hall.

He didn’t care about his way, and he let his feet carry him away until he stood in a niche with a window. He tore it open to feel the chill night air on his face. Hot tears burned in his eyes, but he blinked them back. He felt so foolish.

He didn’t have much time to pity himself, though. Footsteps approached, and he quickly took a deep breath to calm himself. It was in vain.

“Good evening, Bilbo”, Thorin said in his soft voice. He smiled, and Bilbo’s heart beat painfully against his chest. Just why did the dwarf have to be so gorgeous? Usually his broad frame, the waves of dark hair and the damned blue eyes would have been enough to make Bilbo’s knees wobbly. But today Thorin had chosen festive clothes in blue and silver at that, and they made him look very regal and modest at the same time. He was adorned with his usual jewellery, rings and beads and earrings, and he also wore a silver circlet, but broader than Bilbo’s, and there were runes engraved on it.

Thorin in turn eyed Bilbo’s dwarven clothes, and his smile deepened. “You are very fetching.”

Bilbo was honest enough to admit that he was delighted to hear such words from Thorin, but his joy only lasted for a moment. _Now_ Thorin was complementing him? After he had ignored him for more than an hour? Had not only ignored him, but had done so because of a pretty dwarf lady? “I’m surprised you noticed me at all”, he huffed.

The king’s face showed confusion. “Of course I did.” He seemed as if he wanted to add something, but the hobbit left him no chance to speak.

“Really? You were quite engaged with that lovely friend of yours. I got the impression you couldn’t take your eyes off her.” The image of Thorin smiling, smiling so enamoured, stood clearly in front of his eyes, and his voice sharpened. “Do you have the slightest idea how much I troubled myself about this evening, how much hours I spent thinking about clothes and colours and jewellery – and for what? You had only eyes for that dwarf lady! You didn’t even speak to me!”

“Bilbo”, Thorin interrupted him, and now there was a hint of steel in his voice as well, “you’re doing me wrong. Yes, I … talked to her. But now I’m here, and I’m talking to you.”

Well, the hobbit couldn’t deny that Thorin was right … but he didn’t have to like it. “I … I know”, he said and raised his hands in a resigned gesture. “I … I’m mostly angry at myself”, he admitted, but still with a tense voice. “I’ve been so looking forward to this feast. I took such great pains to choose my clothes, wondering how I would look like in this garment or in that … how I would look like to your eyes. I imagined what would happen today in the brightest colours, as if I were some dreamy, naïve tween.” He felt tears welling in his eyes again, and he raised his voice, put all his frustration and anger in it to overact how disappointed he was. “I’m such a fool. I pictured myself entering the feast hall, and you approaching me and staying with me the whole time, talking with me, making me smile, and looking at me like … like you did back in the healing tents.” Bilbo spoke fast now, almost shouted. “And then, in some quiet moment, I would have told you that I love you. And … and it would be beautiful. Just like in a story. But this is no story, and I should know that. I should know that it doesn’t matter where or how I confess my love to you, and yet I couldn’t help it. I wanted this evening to be special. But how you looked at that woman –” He swallowed. “I feel so foolish.”

He felt very tired now, and he only wanted to return to his chambers, to curl up beneath his blanket and forget about today. Wearily he closed his eyes. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted at you. Just … Let us forget what I said. I – ” He broke off and turned around to leave.

He hadn’t even taken one step when the dwarf’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Bilbo felt a sharp tug, and the next thing he knew was that he was pressed against his chest, and that Thorin’s lips were on his.

Bilbo was baffled; his mind had troubles to bring all the sensations together and to form a coherent picture. The gentle pressure of one hand on his neck and one around his waist. The soft tickling of beard on his skin. A strand of hair brushing over his cheek. The yearning in Thorin’s touch. Only slowly did he realize what all that meant. That Thorin was kissing him.

He had dreamed of this for such a long time – but now, instead of returning Thorin’s touch, he was left so breathless that he actually had to tap on the dwarf’s back so he would let go of him. Thorin understood, but he only drew back a little, and his breath danced over Bilbo’s face as he whispered: “I have never stopped looking at you like I did back in the healing tents.” He kissed him, softer this time, but again it was enough to take Bilbo’s breath away.

“What?”, the hobbit managed to croak eventually.

“I love you”, Thorin said with a smile and tenderly cupped Bilbo’s face.

Bilbo blinked at him. But Thorin – he had looked so familiar with Mistress Arna – the way he had looked at her – had smiled at her –

“What?”, he asked again. He had certainly not imagined to be so dumbfounded …

“I love you, Bilbo”, Thorin repeated with a laugh. He brought their faces together, and the tip of his nose grazed over Bilbo’s. “I saw you as soon as you entered the hall. You look so beautiful. I couldn’t take my eyes off you, and then … well, I bumped into Mistress Arna. I couldn’t push her aside – she has often helped us back in the Ered Luin, you know, and I’m grateful for her help.” He laughed again; it sounded a bit ashamed. “I’m afraid I didn’t even get half of the things she was saying. I could only think of you.”

That was everything Bilbo had ever wanted to hear. With a smile he bridged the gap between them and kissed Thorin, finally kissed him as he had dreamed of, felt his lips on his, ran his fingers through his beard, pressed himself harder against Thorin to feel the dwarf’s heart beating against his own chest. He chuckled when he realized that it was now Thorin’s turn to be breathless.

Eventually the dwarf asked: “Shall we return to the feast? The musicians should start playing soon, and I’d like to dance with you.”

“ _Only_ with me?”, the hobbit wanted to know with a smile.

“ _Only_ with you”, Thorin promised. “We can even dance around a certain merchant to make clear that I’m yours … and that I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“I love you”, Bilbo said and placed another gentle kiss on Thorin’s lips.

Thorin grinned. “I heard you yelling it at me, my dear.”


	5. Soul Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin smiled at the cooks. "In fact, my meal was so delicious that I wanted to tell you personally how much I enjoyed it. Your cooking is always great, but this time you’ve outdone yourself.”  
> To his amazement, the other dwarf said: "I’m sorry to tell you this, but your gratitude is misplaced. We didn’t cook your meal. You see, we had a special guest – a guest cook, if you’d like – in our kitchen today. He prepared the meal you enjoyed so much.”

Thorin Oakenshield had seen many hardships in his life, and long years of exile had taught him to deny himself comforts. There had been little supplies for the people of Erebor during their wandering years, and it was his firm belief that a king shouldn’t sleep in a soft bed, his belly filled with warm food, when his people were freezing and starving. He had always put his own needs last. This attitude had not changed as their settlement in the Blue Mountains had prospered, and it had not changed with his coronation as well.

What had changed, however, was the number of servants that took care of his wellbeing. He didn’t have a single one back in the Blue Mountains, and now there seemed to be a whole army of them. And while they stayed invisible themselves, they always knew where the King under the Mountain was and what he did and what he needed … or what they thought he needed. If he could only manage to catch one of them! Then he could tell them that he didn’t need such a ridiculously great heap of cushions on his bed, that they didn’t have to keep the fire in his chambers burning all day and night long, and that he was already old enough to choose his clothes by himself. He didn’t need any extra furs, wines from the far south in gem-studded cups, or fancy meals.

But if one of the servants had appeared in front of him at exactly that very moment, he wouldn’t have had the heart to tell them so. He wouldn’t lose a word about them unnecessarily spoiling him … not after such an excellent dinner.

The smell of it had been tempting enough to get him away from his reports, and he had sat down on the dining table – like any halfway civilised being, as Bilbo would have remarked – instead of eating at his desk, his mind still occupied with petitions and stocklists and not really tasting anything.

The sight of the meal had been as tempting as the smell: crispy chicken with golden-coloured gravy, vegetables and little buttered rolls. And the taste! The meat had been tender and juicy, the gravy rich without masking the taste of the perfectly cooked vegetables, and the rolls had positively melted on his tongue. Thorin had enjoyed every bite of it, and the plate in front of him was as clean as if there had never been a scrap of food on it – no surprise considering that Thorin had used the last roll to wipe off anything edible.

But now he was facing some other problem than staring at an empty plate. Absorbed in his documents, he had hardly looked at the servant who had brought him this delicious meal – despite his resolution to finally face one of them eye to eye –, and he felt bad about it. The dwarves in the kitchen did an excellent job – they always did –, but today they had surpassed themselves, and Thorin wondered if he had missed something – a commemoration day or some other kind of celebration to explain this feast.

Spontaneously he grabbed the empty tray and went into the kitchen himself to make up for his absent-mindedness from before.

There was quite some hustle and bustle in the big kitchen complex, and at first nobody took notice of the king standing amidst them, an empty tray in his hands and looking mildly baffled at the chaos of pans and pots and smells and steams.

“Your Majesty!”, a girl finally exclaimed, her eyes in the heated face widening. She stared at him, and some of the other cooks stared at him as well, but one of her colleagues, a sturdy dwarf, wasn’t too impressed by the king’s sudden appearance.

“Your Majesty.” He quickly took the tray from him and passed it over to the lass. “Narar, at your service. Can I help you somehow?”

“The food wasn’t bad, was it?”, the girl interrupted nervously. Narar shot a glance at her, but Thorin appeased both of them with a smile.

“Quite the contrary. In fact, it was so delicious that I wanted to tell you personally how much I enjoyed it. Your cooking is always great, but this time you’ve outdone yourself.”

The cook grinned broadly, and some of the dwarves in the background did so as well. But to Thorin’s amazement Narar said: “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your gratitude is misplaced.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. “We didn’t cook your meal.”

“You …” Thorin began, but the dwarf already explained: “You see, we had a special guest – a guest cook, if you’d like – in our kitchen today. _He_ prepared the meal you enjoyed so much.”

“A guest cook? Who …”, Thorin tried, but again Narar didn’t leave him a chance to speak. “We had the honour to work with Master Baggins himself – and I think we quite learned something from him, didn’t we?” Some dwarves nodded, and the king also heard comments of approval.

“Master Baggins, I see.” Thorin smiled softly. He could imagine it vividly: Bilbo being surrounded by a bunch of dwarven cooks, everyone taller and broader than him, but all of them giving the small hobbit their undivided attention; Bilbo floundering at first, nervous about how closely they watched him, but soon growing confident and sharing his knowledge with them; explaining and laughing and gesturing with his hands as he always did when he got excited.

“He mentioned that he would like to cook for the company again”, Thorin mused. “I had no idea that he would proceed to action so quickly.”

Some of the cooks exchanged glances, and Narar’s grin broadened so that Thorin wondered if he had missed something.

“Oh, he wasn’t cooking for your company”, Narar told him straightforwardly. “Only for you.”

“For me?” The image of Bilbo standing amidst the cooks changed, and suddenly the hobbit was looking at him. His eyes held Thorin’s gaze captive, and his lips formed the words _only for you_. He showed him a smile, and even the mental image of it made Thorin’s heart flutter.

“Oh. I see.” Thorin coughed slightly. “Then I guess I have to thank Master Baggins.”

“Sounds like a good idea”, Narar replied, and someone in the background let out a muffled giggle. Thorin decided to ignore it as he was already on his way out.

The hobbit’s rooms were situated in the royal wing. Thorin knew better than to tell Bilbo that those chambers were bigger than most of the living areas deeper in the mountain – Bilbo liked preferential treatment as much as Thorin did –, but the king wished for him to be comfortable. If he liked his rooms … then maybe he would stay in Erebor longer. The thought that Bilbo would leave sooner or later had always made his heart ache, but now he felt hope burning in it.

And maybe there was a reason for it, for when the king knocked politely on the hobbit’s door, Bilbo greeted him with a crystal-clear laugh.

“My, Thorin, your sense of smell must be very keen!”

“Pardon?”

Bilbo grinned at him. “I made my famous seedcake. It came out of the oven some minutes ago and should be ready to eat. Would you like a piece?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but grabbed Thorin’s hand and pulled him towards the dining table. “I’ll be back in a few moments”, he promised and went into the kitchen.

For the second time this day Thorin experienced a smell that made his mouth water, and he didn’t doubt for a second that the cake would be delicious. He couldn’t stop himself from almost rising from his chair again as Bilbo returned, carrying a platter with a golden-brown cake.

He chuckled as he noticed Thorin’s gaze. “You have the look of a nearly famished dwarf”, he teased. “Did you miss your dinner again over all your royal business?” There was an undertone of reproach in his voice now. He always chided Thorin for forgetting to properly eat and for staying at his desk instead; he wouldn’t believe that Thorin actually enjoyed taking care of all the matters that kept Erebor running. Sure, it could be tiring as well, but this was what he had been prepared for since he had been a child, and what had come true despite all circumstances.

Bilbo’s fingers danced over the table as he arranged two smaller plates and forks on it, and Thorin watched them idly for a moment.

“I had a delicious dinner”, he finally said. “The best I’ve ever eaten, I think.”

“That sounds nice”, Bilbo commented amiably.

“Why did you not tell me that you cooked for me?”

For a moment, Bilbo was silent. “You figured it out?”

“I wanted to thank the cooks and tell them they had surpassed themselves with this meal.”

The hobbit beamed visibly at these words, but he kept his voice level when he answered: “I was afraid I might be out of practice. You see, it feels like an eternity since I properly cooked something – properly, I say, so the meals I prepared during our journey do not count. I mean, I didn’t have the bare necessities back then.”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to chuckle. “Bilbo, if your cooking skills are a little rusty indeed, then I can’t imagine how delicious a meal you prepare at the peak of your craft must be!”

“So you really liked it?”

“I did.”

“Well, then you’ll certainly enjoy the cake as well.” Bilbo reached for a knife, obviously eager to let Thorin try.

“Bilbo?”, Thorin asked in a gentle voice.

“Hm?”

“I know that … cooking for someone is an important part … of hobbit courtship.”

Bilbo let his hand drop. Instead he began to rearrange the plate with the cake. “You do?”, he asked quietly without taking his eyes of the dessert. “Who told you?”

“You yourself. It was during our journey. Glóin told about his wife, and you, my curious burglar, wanted to know more about his family. He also spoke to you about dwarven courtship, and you told him about hobbit customs in turn.”

Bilbo now looked at him, and amazement was written over his face. “That was ages ago, when we stayed at Beorn’s! And you still remember it?”

“I do”, Thorin answered with a smile and reached for Bilbo’s hand. How perfectly it fit into his! “I remember how you laughed about Glóin’s stories, and how your eyes shone in the light of the fire. Your voice was full of yearning when you explained that, by cooking for someone, hobbits show that they want to care for that person. Back then I wondered … I wondered if there was somebody waiting for you back in the Shire …” He watched with fast-beating heart how the hobbit came a step closer with a slight shake of his head, and he decided not to fall silent now. “If you would cook for me again … I would be very happy.”

Bilbo withdrew his hand, but only to place both of them on Thorin’s neck. His touch was tender, and it made his skin prickle in a wonderful way. “You … accept my courtship?”

“If I accept it?” Thorin wrapped his arms around him, felt the softness and warmth of his body. “That sounds terribly formal, don’t you think?”

“Then say it in a more poetic way, my dear.” Bilbo’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“My heart is yours, Bilbo, and your courtship makes me the happiest of all dwarves.”

The hobbit beamed at him. “There are so many things I want to cook for you”, he declared with a giggle. “Mushroom soup and beef pies and berry tarts and, oh, my famous tomato sauce! I’m sure you’ll also like my pumpkin stew, and –”

“Bilbo?”, Thorin interrupted him gently. “Before you head off into the kitchen … May I kiss you?”

The smile Bilbo showed him was beatific, as was the lovely flush on his face. “Of course.” He brought his face closer to the dwarf’s, and Thorin bridged the last distance between them.

Bilbo’s lips were soft beneath his, and Thorin smiled as he tasted sugar and spices – he had obviously nibbled at the seedcake before. But the sweetness he felt had nothing to do with sugar, and he doubted that he would ever taste enough of it.

“Come to think about it”, Bilbo mumbled breathlessly, “I should like to cook for you again as soon as possible. Why don’t you stay for breakfast?”

Thorin grinned. “First or second breakfast?”


	6. Sweet Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Bilbo wants to do during his first meeting with Dís is to make a good impression on her. But soon he begins to wonder what the members of the company have told her about him - just why should anybody talk about the colour of his eyes with her?!

Bilbo was terribly nervous as he stood in front of the door to Thorin’s chambers.

He had already raised his hand to knock, but he let it sink again and smoothed down his clothes instead. He arranged his neckerchief once more, and he even checked that none of the buttons on his new waistcoat were missing. They were complete, of course, and polished at that, and Bilbo knew that he was acting ridiculous. Fíli and Kíli had told him only minutes before that he shouldn’t worry, that he should simply be himself – and if anyone knew how Bilbo could make a good first impression on the lady Dís, then it had to be her sons.

His knock sounded rather timid nonetheless. At least it was answered within moments, and the request to enter in Thorin’s deep, warm voice encouraged him a little. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open.

The room he entered had once been an entrance room, but it had been turned into a parlour – and a very cosy one at that. He stepped on soft carpets and furs, and the merrily crackling fire cast a warm shine on the tapestries on the walls. A low table had been placed in front of the fireplace, and two dwarves had made themselves comfortable in the armchairs that gathered around it.

Thorin sat in the chair closest to the fireplace, with a blanket wrapped around his legs and a shawl around his shoulders. He still tended to freeze easily – which was perfectly normal, Óin had assured a worried Bilbo, a consequence of his serious injuries and the heavy blood loss. A nuisance, but one that would pass soon.

Bilbo smiled as he met Thorin’s warm gaze. Sometimes, when the dwarf beamed at him like now, he could almost forget the figure he had seen in the halls of healing, pale and with dark shadows under his eyes, barely able to move even his head. The sight still haunted his sleep from time to time, and he was glad beyond words that the Thorin of the living world was getting stronger with each passing day. However, the king still performed each of his movements with great care, and he had to use a cane to walk.

“Hello, Bilbo.” Despite his healing injuries, the stubborn dwarf wanted to get up to greet him properly. He paid no attention to Bilbo’s assurance that such a gesture wasn’t necessary.

The dwarf next to Thorin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything as if she already knew that the king wouldn’t be stopped. Instead she rose as well and took the blanket from him. Bilbo eyed her curiously as she folded it and placed it on the armrest. Even while performing such an everyday task, there was something very regal about the female dwarf, and it had nothing to do with her elegant red dress or her fine jewellery.

 “Bilbo”, Thorin said with a smile, “may I introduce my sister Dís?”

The hobbit couldn’t help staring. Lady Dís, he had been told, had set out for Erebor as soon as she had received word of the mountain’s reclamation. The reign of winter had not bothered her, and she had travelled Middle-Earth with some faithful companions to reunite with her family despite the snow and the cold. Bilbo had wondered how she would look like – the company had told him little about female dwarves, and bearing the story of her journey in mind, he had imagined her to look like a warrior. She seemed strong indeed, but Lady Dís was beautiful as well. The hobbit had thought she would probably look like her brother, but her artfully braided hair and her beard – which was braided as well, and longer than Thorin’s – were golden like her eldest son’s. Her finely chiselled features looked as regal as her brother’s, though, and she had blue eyes as well.

“So this is the burglar”, she said, the amusement in her voice barely hidden.

Bilbo, remembering his good manners, bowed down. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service”, he greeted politely. “I am honoured to make your acquaintance, Lady Dís.”

She laughed merrily. “Please, there is no need to be so formal! From what I’ve heard, you’re part of the family now.” As if to emphasize her words, she took a step closer and gently bumped her forehead against Bilbo’s. “Dís, daughter of Thráin, at your service.”

Bilbo felt a blush covering his cheeks. “That’s very kind from you … Dís.”

She drew back a little to study his face. Her eyes narrowed while she did so, but suddenly she showed him a broad smile. “Your eyes look like amber indeed!”, she exclaimed while beaming at him.

“Oh, ahem …” Bilbo stammered, not really knowing how to respond. It almost sounded as if somebody had talked with her about the colour of his eyes – which was absolute nonsense! Who would tell her such an absurd thing about him? But maybe it was custom amongst dwarves to pay each other compliments by comparing one’s eyes to gems? It sounded like something dwarves would do, and she was very probably trying to be polite, nothing else. Should he return the compliment? “Thank you”, he finally croaked and cringed inwardly. Why couldn’t he be eloquent when it really mattered? He wished to make a good impression on Dís. After all she was Thorin’s sister, and Thorin … Thorin was …

Bilbo swallowed. Thorin was the first thought on his mind when he woke in the morning, and the last before he fell asleep.

However, the king didn’t know of his feelings – not yet. Thorin was hardly out of his sickbed and still needed to recover, and there were more pressing matters to consider about the future of his realm, things that were more important than a love-struck hobbit who couldn’t even put his emotions into words. His mouth suddenly felt very dry. He wanted to reveal his feelings to Thorin in due time, but he also knew how important family was to dwarves. He got the impression that Fíli and Kíli would welcome it if he courted their uncle – in fact, they had made some not very subtle comments about it. But he wished for Dís’ blessing as well … or at least he hoped she wouldn’t think of him as an utter fool.

Her friendly words from before gave him courage, though, and he eased as she put a hand on his arm and led him to an armchair.

“Would you like some tea?” She pointed towards a tray with a kettle and some cups. “I know it’s too early – I’ve been told tea is at four …”

“Yes please.” A cup of tea would definitely help him to calm down. He took a deep breath. He hadn’t made a complete idiot out of himself. He had just stammered a bit …

He winced as he positively fell into the armchair instead of sitting down. At least Dís hadn’t noticed – Thorin had sat down opposite of Bilbo, and she was helping him to arrange the blanket over his lower body again. She mumbled something in Khuzdul while doing so, and Thorin showed Bilbo a grin.

“She’s fussing”, he said which earned him a slap on the shoulder.

“Of course I’m fussing!”, Dís replied. “Somebody has to. I’m just glad that Óin kept an eye on you while I wasn’t here. I half expected you to have started sparring with Dwalin already. I’ve been told that you took care of my brother as well, Bilbo – and it seems he even listened to you. You have my gratitude for watching over him.”

Bilbo opened his mouth, searching for an appropriate answer, but luckily Dís didn’t seem to expect one. Instead she reached for the kettle and poured the tea for Bilbo herself. “You prefer your tea with one spoon of sugar and a few drops of milk, right?”

“I … I do.” He took the cup the female dwarf offered him with an astonished look. Who had told her that? The members of the company couldn’t know how he drank his tea – they had sometimes drunk tea during the quest, but there had been neither milk nor much sugar. And if they knew – why should they tell Dís?

“So, Bilbo”, Dís began after she had poured another cup of tea for Thorin and one for herself, “I’m really happy to finally meet you. Despite living in the Blue Mountains, I’m afraid I know next to nothing about hobbits. But I’ve heard only good things about you.”

Bilbo managed a little smile. “I’m pleased to hear that.”

“I’ve been told how brave you’ve been during the quest, and how your cleverness has saved my kin more than once.”

“Oh.” Bilbo tried to cover his uneasiness with a sip of his tea although it was still too hot. “You’re doing me too much honour.”

“Really? And what about the dwarves that are calling you the saviour of Erebor?” She smiled at him across the rim of her cup. “Are they doing you too much honour as well?”

He almost choked on his beverage. “I’m afraid that’s a mistake”, he said after a coughing fit. “I’m just a simple hobbit.”

“A simple hobbit who saved my kin from being eaten by trolls, who cast himself between my brother and a giant warg, who freed the company from the Woodland Realm’s dungeons …” Dís put her cup aside and began to count his deeds on the fingers of her hand. She was obviously enjoying herself while Bilbo wished the ground would open to swallow him. “… who vouched for Thorin when nobody else was there, who riddled with a dragon, who tried to stop a war all by himself …”

Bilbo stared into his teacup. He didn’t want to look into her friendly face right now … or into Thorin’s. “I don’t know what you’ve been told about the last point, but it didn’t make me feel like a hero.” He bit his lips. “More like a traitor.”

“But you saved my brother.” Dís spoke quietly, but something in her voice had Bilbo look up. “You alone had the courage to stand against him, and yet you never left his side. You could have easily stayed with the people of Lake-Town after giving them the Arkenstone. But you returned to Thorin although you knew about the dragon-sickness and which effect the Arkenstone had upon him. If you think yourself a traitor for your deeds, then this world definitely needs more traitors.”

By now the tips of his ears felt hot as well. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but the stories you heard from Fíli and Kíli are clearly exaggerated. I’m not a hero …”

“Oh, I didn’t hear these stories from my sons”, Dís said innocently.

“Not?” Bilbo blinked. “But who else has –” He fell silent as he followed Dís’ gaze to her brother. Thorin had lowered his eyes, and his face had turned red. “Thorin …?”, he asked quietly. “Not Fíli and Kíli …?”

“Speaking of my sons …” Dís placed her empty cup on the table. “I’m afraid I have to leave you now. You see, I’m supposed to meet them in the Great Hall …” She rose and was already on her way to the door. “I’m sorry we couldn’t talk longer, Bilbo, but I hope we’ll see each other again soon!” With that, she was out of the room and left Bilbo and Thorin alone.

The awkward silence lengthened between them. Thorin wouldn’t meet his gaze, but stared into his teacup, and he kept doing so even when Bilbo put his own cup back onto the table with a clang and got up. His steps were swallowed by the thick carpet as he moved to the dwarf’s side. There he knelt down, placed his forearms on the chair’s armrest and put his chin on them.

Looking up at Thorin, Bilbo asked softly: “What other lies have you told your sister about me?”

He could see how the muscles in the king’s neck worked before he muttered: “I didn’t tell her a single lie about you.”

“Really?”, Bilbo pressed further, but not unkindly. “What about me saving your kin, and being the saviour of Erebor at that?” In little more than a whisper, he added: “About my eyes being like amber?”

The corner of Thorin’s mouth twitched into a vague smile. “I can only repeat myself: I didn’t tell any lies.”

With one hand, Bilbo reached for the dwarf’s cheek. Thorin’s beard tickled his palms, and he gently nudged him to look at him. “But you haven’t told the whole truth either … at least not to me.”

A smile, now true and bright, bloomed on Thorin’s face. “The whole truth, my dear burglar”, he said, “is that I feel like a clumsy dwarfling whenever you are near. You make my heart race, and I’m so ... so tongue-tied.” He let out a nervous little laugh. He lowered his eyes again, but as Bilbo continued to gently move his fingers through his beard, he looked up. “I can barely think when all I want to say is … I have fallen in love with you, Bilbo.”

“Oh, Thorin.” It was little more than a whisper that crossed Bilbo’s lips, choked with emotion. Unable to speak further, he raised his other hand to cup the dwarf’s face. Thorin’s blue eyes shone as he began to understand. He brought his face closer to Bilbo’s, and the hobbit in turn raised his head. Slowly they gravitated towards each other until their lips met in a soft kiss.

“I love you, Thorin”, Bilbo eventually whispered against the dwarf’s lips. His heart positively jumped in his chest, and he repeated the words once more, louder this time to make sure that Thorin heard him, that it was really true: “I love you.”

Both of them were startled by something that sounded suspiciously like a cheer, only half muffled through the wooden door. Neither of them bothered to get up and speak to Dís about the impoliteness of eavesdropping, though. Instead they smiled at each other before sharing another lingering kiss.

There wouldn’t be much talking to be overheard anyway.


End file.
